


The Audition

by Tierra469



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Disturbing Themes, Dubious Consent, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I could be the village idiot, the homeless guy, the thief or the hustler. Been ‘em all before…”<br/>Daryl’s frustration with Alexandria results in some serious acting-out, and Rick bears the brunt of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Audition

"What the fuck do you think you’re _doing?"_ Rick growled, his angry tone belying the fact that he was mostly bewildered, pleading for an actual answer to what is usually a rhetorical question. He held Daryl against the corrugated iron fence with both hands to his chest, feeling the man’s heart pounding as they both tried to catch their breath. Rick canted his head, crouched a bit to get down in Daryl’s face; as usual his friend was averting his eyes, hiding behind the still-unwashed curtain of stringy hair. The moon shone brightly, which helped, but reading Daryl’s expression was a trick in any light.

"You gonna arrest me, officer?" Daryl asked coldly, flicking his gaze to Rick’s. "You gotta read me my rights or let me go."

"Stop it," Rick demanded. "You’re scaring the shit out of people, sneaking around like this. And now you’re breaking and entering?"

Just a week after being appointed constable of Alexandria’s safe-zone, Rick responded to a report of someone slipping from house to house in the darkness, climbing into the Jensens’ home through a side window. He’d had a sinking feeling when he noticed Daryl missing as he left to investigate, and sure enough, the man he chased half a block, then cornered in a side yard was none other than his own family member.

"So now it’s ‘breakin’ and entering?’ Last I knew it was called ‘foraging.’ That house looked unoccupied," Daryl snarled, still panting.

"Come on, Daryl. You know that’s bullshit."

"Callin’ me a liar?" Daryl brought his hands up quickly and shoved Rick away, catching him by surprise and causing him to stagger back a couple steps. "Get yer fuckin’ hands off me."

Rick’s fists clenched at his sides, but he forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths and remember who he was talking to. He’d recognized Daryl’s fear and discomfort since they’d arrived—compounded, he knew, by the grief the man was (or wasn’t) dealing with—but he hadn’t been sure how to help. He reckoned that time might be the only cure. But if Daryl fell apart here… there wouldn’t be any more time for him. Deanna had told Rick on the first day that she’d exiled three people who "didn’t work out." He couldn’t watch Daryl become number four.

"Daryl," Rick began again, slowly and carefully, "what are you _doing?_ You’re putting us both in a bad position."

Daryl had begun pacing back and forth a few steps in front of him, and now he was shaking his head, clearly frustrated. "I don’t belong here, Rick. These people don’t want me. I ain’t got nothin’ they want. They’re lookin’ at me like I’m a useless piece of shit."

"Stop it, now," Rick pled. "You’re my family. I wouldn’t be here if not for you. These people are willing to give you a chance, but you’re not willing to try!"

"Try _what_ , man? Try shavin’ and puttin’ on a three-piece suit, or maybe a stupid-ass cop uniform like you and _Michonne_?" he spat. Rick couldn’t help notice the emphasis on _Michonne_ , and it suddenly occurred to him that not only did Daryl feel displaced, he felt _replaced_. In one fell swoop last week, Deanna had made Michonne Rick’s wingman—a position which Daryl had occupied with wholehearted dedication and loyalty since Hershel’s farm… since Shane had lost the job.

Shane… jealousy had made him crazy, made him turn against Rick, made him think the grass would be greener on the other side of the fence. Shane forced a confrontation with Rick. Would Daryl do it too? Was he doing it now?

Rick began to feel dizzy, coldness seeping into his veins. _Breathe_ , he told himself, steadying his nerves, so easily frayed these days.

Daryl was still pacing. "I should just go, man. Should just leave. Y’all be better off without me."

"No," Rick said firmly, stepping forward again.

"You gonna stop me?" Daryl stopped pacing and lifted his head, squaring his shoulders. To all appearances, he was daring Rick to make another move on him.

Rick grabbed him by the arms, and Daryl knocked his hands away violently. Determined, Rick grabbed him again. "You can’t leave, Daryl. And you can’t make them throw you out…" Daryl shoved him hard with a loud grunt, knocking Rick to the ground. Undaunted, Rick sprang back up again and lunged at Daryl, pushing him back into the wall. "Nobody _wants_ you to _go_!" he growled into Daryl’s face. "I need you! _We_ need you! Be a man and…"

And to Rick’s utter shock, Daryl—pinned against the wall panting and shaking—grabbed him by the back of the head and dragged him into a lip-mashing, teeth-grinding kiss. Rick tasted cigarettes and saw stars, realized he’d stopped breathing, wrenched away.

_What the hell?_

Daryl used his shock to grab Rick’s jacket and spin him around, throwing _him_ to the wall. The archer’s broad chest kept him there, a hand coming up to grab the back of Rick’s neck, slide fingers into what was left of his curls. Another hand was unfastening Rick’s new belt and snaking into his trousers, wrapping around his dick. Amazingly, the long-neglected organ betrayed him by responding enthusiastically. Rick’s mouth formed a perfect "O" as he sucked in a breath, his pupils blown wide in the darkness. His mind told him to lash out, reach for his knife, jam his kneecap into Daryl’s privates—anything to stop this assault. But another part of him…

Daryl pressed his mouth against Rick’s ear. "C’mon, Rick," he murmured. "Jus’ let me this one time. It’s on me…"

And despite the fact that he was in uniform, in someone’s backyard, under a bright moon, Rick let him. He let his eyes flutter closed, let Daryl lick and kiss at his smooth jaw, let him fondle his hard cock, pressing a thumb into the slit, smearing precum around the head, stroking roughly with his big, calloused hand. It hurt really good, and Rick’s breath hissed through his teeth, fingers digging into Daryl’s shoulders. Daryl hummed in his ear, then suddenly pulled away, and Rick opened his eyes to see his friend kneeling in front of him, tugging Rick free of his pants with grim determination.

Rick shook his head, "Shit, Daryl, no…" and laced his fingers into the man’s greasy hair. He could easily have yanked back on that hair, demanded Daryl stop, walked away, but there was something morbidly fascinating about it all. As if he were watching someone else’s blow job, someone else’s best friend, someone else’s big mistake. There was something incredibly wanton about the way Daryl was gazing up at him through his bangs, his mouth full of cock. Rick watched in shameless amazement as Daryl deep throated him—something he’d only seen in pornos—coming off gasping and drooling and then going back for more. This was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, an uncontrolled wildfire so hot it burnt any resistance he had left to a cinder. His thighs shook and he leaned hard against the wall, sliding lower as Daryl’s fingers on his left hand worked in tandem with his mouth; his right hand sliding up between Rick’s legs, squeezing his tightening balls, fingers sliding up the crack of Rick’s ass to caress his opening.

Rick lost himself in the flames, and had Mrs. Jensen peered out her back window, she’d have seen him consumed completely, head back against the fence, lips open, gasping and moaning and holding Daryl’s head to thrust with abandon into his willing mouth.

Upon Rick’s last spasm, Daryl swallowed loudly, pulled away and lurched to his feet, leaving the constable trembling and ruined, struggling to put himself back together. "Fuck you’re really good at that," Rick mumbled stupidly. He found it harder than he’d expected to just stand up straight, his knees weak.

"Should be," Daryl replied breathily, and Rick could hear the false nonchalance in his voice, "Been practicin’ since I was six."

Daryl’s words hit Rick like a punch in the gut. The archer leaned close again, placing his hands against the fence on either side of Rick’s head… so close that Rick could smell himself on his friend. Rick screwed his eyes shut, a hot flush rising up his neck and spreading across his face. He couldn’t look the other man in the eye. _What the fuck had he done?_

"Next time I could bend over for ya, too… but that’s never a freebie…"

"Stop," Rick begged in a whisper. "Please, Daryl…"

Daryl smacked his palms against the fence hard, shoving himself back and away. "Betcha didn’t know I been auditionin’ this whole week," he proclaimed loudly. Rick opened his eyes—he suddenly had to make sure it wasn’t Merle Dixon standing there, ‘cause it sure as hell sounded like him.

"Yeah, now you know my _full_ repertoire!" Daryl threw his arms into the air for emphasis. "I could be the village idiot, the homeless guy, the thief or the hustler. Been ‘em all before—sometimes in the same day!"

Daryl’s voice kept rising, and Rick reached out to him, desperate to fix things, to quiet him before he drew attention.

"So, Rick ‘ol buddy, what’s it gonna be for me? Why don’t you make a recommendation to Deanna? Or hell, why don’t _you_ just decide?"

"Daryl, come on home…"

"Or maybe none o’ y’all need my services here in motherfuckin’ _Pleasantville,"_ Daryl spat hatefully, flinging his arms wide to indicate the big houses, the lawns and cars and stores and deceptively fucking dangerous normality. "Just let me know, man… ‘cause I could always take my show on the road."

Rick stepped forward, tried one more time to touch Daryl’s shoulder, but the archer shoved his middle finger in Rick’s face. "Fuck you! Just FUCK YOU and the fucking horse you rode in on!" Daryl cried, his voice breaking, and Rick watched helplessly, his arms fallen at his sides, as his former wingman turned and stalked away into the night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic post in many years. Enjoy!


End file.
